The art of dating when you are in your 40’s is a perilous, soul destroying mission. I blame my misfortune with men on the 'fairy tale factor'... That never ending belief that love conquers all and that one day a prince will come.
Reality isn't even close to the fairy tale. Especially when the prince doesn’t just come with baggage – he comes with a bitter, money grubbing ex-wife clinging to his back like a hump.
Hey, that wasn't going to be 'in a light bulb..?' It was going to be screw with your sanity!
I have put up with my whacky brain giving me grief time and
time again and mentioned a thousand times that ‘they’ll kill me’ at some
stage. Now the time has come to start
taking action for the sake of my health/life!
If you happen to be a neurosurgeon reading this; please
note. You are not God. You are not even close. If you don’t lift your game and admit that
maybe the patient knows more about her body than you do – you will kill
someone.
For me; I need to go through my record and understand
exactly what they’ve done to me; and what mistakes they’ve made before I do
anything. I suspect that won’t be
pretty!
My Dad always used to say that doctors are the ones that get
to bury their mistakes. He wasn’t wrong
on that score!
Before I begin, excuse my errors. I'm forced to blog via iPhone since I'm I hospital and there is no wireless! Worse, my fingers are like chipalattas; and then spellcheck intervenes and creates hell...
So weird statements that may turnup through here aside, I decided to blog on the startlingly horrific, comedy of freaking errors that is 'the patient journey!'
Obviously, unlike my normal rants, this will be kept short but ill ensure to expand when I get home.
Just one question. Who the Hell is teaching these fools how to be doctors...?
The smile on the left may be exaggerated; but not by much!
WTF is that about..?
Seriously? How do you get to be
in your fifties walking around with teeth jutting out at weird angles? I’m almost certain there is a mirror in every
house; which therefore leaves me with the theory that there is a whole slew of
idiots out there that cease to see their real self.
I actually work with a guy who I suspect has a magic mirror. He gets older and wider (and more anal); yet
the “perfect woman” he is looking for is young, rich and positively svelte. It’s as though he can’t see what he looks
like anymore, preferring to see the younger version of himself when he looks in
the mirror.
I’m pretty certain I don’t do that. I’m not by any stretch of the imagination
perfect. I’ve got extra kilos – but I
like them. I’ve got laughter lines! My skin isn’t as taut as it once was (I’m not
sure it ever was lol). Gravity is
pulling me down! But I make an effort
with what I’ve got. I’ve got a gap
between my teeth (which I like and choose to keep – arguing with my dentist
every, single, time!) but at least they are straight and white!
I mean I’m picking guys that are either my age, or in some
cases 6+ years older. Hell, they’re no
Mel Gibson but then, Mel Gibson is no Mel Gibson these days; and truth tell, I
want to see some lines. Craggy is my
thing. I’m not looking for a washboard
stomach; I want to hold onto something at night. Who wants to spoon with someone that is sharp
edges..?
So what is with parade of dates with a mouth full of
teeth? It doesn’t matter how funny they
are; or how nice they are. I can’t be
sticking my tongue in there – so that isn’t ever going to work.
I am literally working my ass off. I've got work coming out of my gazoo. Tomorrow, I have a meeting with HISA, chaired by a rep from the Department of Health finishing at 8.30 pm - followed by supper!
Yeah...I finish at 4.30!!!!!
So I haven't had time to check email, let alone blog... but I do have time to shake my head in utter frustration with the world of men and dating.
Okay, I'm 52 - it was never going to be easy to get a guy with some sort of music ability, a loyalty gene and someone capable of actually being in love - I mean, let's face it, one hasn't dropped out of the sky at me with those few qualities in all my years!!!! They are always lacking in something!
So I hunkered in for the long haul... Understanding that on my own may be my best shot at happiness.
But the daughter! She's 27. Blonde. Tall. Gorgeous. Smart. Funny.
She was lamenting the fact that one of her 'kisses' was from a midget. No.. that is not a scathing term for some guy who is 5'8" (in the ex squeeze scale of height which means about 5'5" - and perhaps 5' wide which basically means a circle...)
No... We are talking full blown, 4 foot, short legged 'game of thrones' type midget!
Not sure what she is whining about.
I want a midget!
So I decided to just put it on here anyhow. Hell, if I ever meet anyone half way decent; I'll put it on again :)
Dating land... Tool belt boy and I went to a groovy little Mexican restaurant called the Yellow Bird Cafe in Chapel Street, Windsor. Although this isn't a foodie blog, since I'm out in the land of dating and so catching different eateries, I may as well throw my two cents in.
I chose the venue since he is from Geelong and he figured I'd just know where to go. I wanted to pick somewhere 'different' to wow him with my knowledge. I wasn't disappointed. I went with the Yellow Bird Cafe. I suspect he ambiance was better than the food (at least it was for me). There is bird and Mexican paraphernalia littered throughout the interior with band posters here and there and it had a large outdoor area and great music (that got too loud for conversation as the night progressed).
I watched a huge plate of nachos come out to a table near us and regretted my stupid choice of a Ceaser Salad - which was actually kind of tasteless. Luckily the conversation flowed easily and we spent a good couple of hours with no silent moments or difficult lull in conversation.
He looked exactly like his pic; fit, slim; quite good looking chiseled face. We pretty much come from the same family environment. Large; loud - mafia style: you'd turn up in the middle of the night with a shovel and a bag of lime if your sibling called you to say there was a body in their back yard.
He has a good relationship with the ex (which means no real dramas in that area). He is in no rush (so not a desperate fool) and he hasn't inundated me with contact (as the others) since walking out of the place.
He did laugh when I told him about my first date where I shook the guys hand at the end. I mean he was a stranger... I'm a slow to boil girl. I bubble when I reach that point but its an evolution; there is no such thing as love at first site in my world! He agreed that he was the same.
Sounds perfect huh..?
Now for the down side...
He has a sixteen year old boy that lives with him. As the words left his mouth I had a flash back to the last trip I took down sixteen year old lane. Snot on the wall, manipulative, poo germ infested hands, psycho personality disorder. I had just escaped from that crap. I stifled my sudden desire to just stand up, drain my beer and leave :) but paused. He talked about "discipline"; so he wasn't a velvet wearer then.
Then we got to his hobby. He shows and judges dogs; gets flown all over the world to do it. Not just any dogs but Rottweilers - and he has three of them. My fear level rose just hearing about it and I could already see them protecting the devil's child Omen style! He mentioned that they are "dogs"; not babies and he treats them as such. They don't come in the house - so that was one small positive.
Then he showed me the photo of his loungeroom with the massive cabinet of trophies. They had been banned to the pool room when his wife had lived there; but now he'd moved them to the lounge. Yeah. I couldn't see a huge wall of trophies anywhere in any lounge I could deal with.
Will we go out again..? Possibly. But I'm beginning to think my sister was right; a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
